Lost Homicidal Maniac by Jeff Strand

Author:Jeff Strand
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: humor, Horror, handcuffs, revenge, andrew mayhem, jeff strand, comedy
Publisher: Jeff Strand
Published: 2012-12-13T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"What the hell, man?" asked Bruce, walking into the house. Shirley had behaved herself for approximately the past thirty seconds, so it was safe. "How come I never see you doing anything normal?"

"Watch out," I said, pointing to Shirley. "She's batshit bugfuck crazy. You have my total permission to take the shot if you need to."

"I think we'll avoid that."

"I need you to call my wife and make sure she's okay."

"We did that already and she's fine. A car's on its way to pick her up."

"What about Samantha Tracer? She's Roger's fiancée—I mean, girlfriend. I don't remember her number, but Helen would have it."

"We'll track her down. I like you, Andrew, so I hope to God you didn't murder that gentleman on the floor in cold blood."

"It was suicide."

Bruce chuckled. "Funny guy as always."

"I'm serious."

"Wow. That is somebody who really wanted to get the job done. So you're driving people to machine gun suicide these days, huh? Figures. You're not going to bleed to death on my shift, are you?"

"I might."

"There's an ambulance on the way. Could you do me a favor and get down on your knees and put your hands on your heads? Just so I know we won't have any problems."

Shirley and I did so as best we could. A couple of other cops were in the house now, though one of them saw the corpse, turned around, and quickly exited. I could hear him heaving.

"I need you to check the trunk," I said. "My friend Roger is in there."

"His luck's as bad as yours, isn't it?" Bruce nodded to one of the other cops. "Cover them."

The officer pointed his dinky little only-one-measly-bullet-at-a-time police force-issued revolver at us.

I felt sick to my stomach as Bruce opened the driver's side door, leaned inside, and pulled the lever to pop the trunk. The trunk opening sounded like a gunshot.

He walked back through the rubble, out of sight.

Roger was alive. I knew he was. We'd survived too many adventures together for him to get shot in the trunk of a car. When we finally died, it was going to be something spectacular, like exploding in the vacuum of space.

"I'm sure Roger is okay," Shirley whispered.

"Why are you being reassuring? Is this one big practical joke? Are you like a psychology major making the world your own little test lab? Just stop talking, get off my wrist, and get out of my life."

"I will as soon as I can."

Bruce walked back in the house. "All right, I'm not going to keep you in suspense because I can see that you're very disturbed at the moment. Roger's okay. He's unconscious but he's breathing fine."

"Oh, thank God." I thought I might start crying.

"You don't need to cry or anything. I think he whacked his head on something. He seems like he's in much better shape than you are."

"Can I talk to Helen?"

"No, Andrew, you may not. I trust you and all that, but I hear we've got a sweet little old lady,

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